these words excavate
cracked foundations of pride ready to crumble under the slightest tremor of failure
worms inching their way across rotting motives
well-loved corpses of hidden fallacies

Yet it also unearths
A well of life for a  boy from a village in Uganda
overcrowded saplings of hope fighting for sun rays to be relocated and survive
rusty time capsules of memories to connect the past with the present
maybe after months of following wilted stained maps-
the treasure of love and understanding

I am learning not to fear this exhumation
it’s necessary to resurrect this body
I am learning not to run from the odor
to worry about getting dirt in my fingernails
and the cracks of my hands

so bring on the aching back
the shovel
the backhoe
we may have dig to China
before this thing is completed